


Oh, What A World... And Then There's You

by betweentowns



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: A Three Thousand Word Blowjob, But a Blowjob, Did I Mention The Blowjob Already, Fluff and Smut, Literally It's Just A Blowjob, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pynch Smut, That Quote That's Like, That is all, That's this, They love each other, like a heart attack that never stopped.”, so much, “And here was Ronan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentowns/pseuds/betweentowns
Summary: Adam’s not the religious one. But on mornings like this, he feels as close to believing in angels as he’ll get.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch & Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 13
Kudos: 208





	Oh, What A World... And Then There's You

Ronan Lynch does not do “halfway.”

It’s not exactly that Ronan will object to fucking in random places or at random times—no, he’s a perfectly predictable twenty-one-year-old boy and an _annoying_ orgasm is still always better than no orgasm. But he sighs, sometimes, with his non-smoker’s smoker exhale, when Adam is fumbling for a travel size bottle of K-Y lube in the dark of his dorm bedroom while Adam’s roommate snores across the room from them. 

He clenches his fists on the steering wheel of the BMW when they have to roll the driver’s seat all the way back and _still_ barely fit as they grind into each other’s laps. Ronan almost _cries_ , honest-to-God tears pricking his eyes, when he’s just— _just—_ about to come from the most amazing sloppy boyfriend head ever and Matthew bangs on the door of Declan’s apartment bathroom begging to pee.

Adam catches Ronan’s sighs with his lips, kisses the fists from his knuckles and tears from his eyes. Adam says, “Hey, it’s okay.”

And mostly, it is. Or at the very least, it’s _familiar,_ quickies in college shower stalls, masturbating together over FaceTime even though Ronan hates everything to do with his phone and Adam’s own camera is a little cracked, making everything that _should_ be hot just, blurry. Adam is in his third year at Harvard now, and _fuck, yeah,_ they’ve been doing this—loving each other—for three years. But also _ugh, yeah,_ they’ve been doing this—long distance—for three years.

It’s unprecedented, because ever since he _met_ Ronan, before he even _liked_ Ronan, the one thing everybody knew about Ronan Lynch is that he is all, or nothing. Getting the best Latin scores Aglionby had seen in years and virtually failing every other class. Trailing Gansey around Henrietta like they’d been brothers in another life but not having any other friends. Ronan is just _like that._

Adam had even been overwhelmed, at first, by the impossibly wide scope of Ronan’s love, the near-embarrassing intensity of it. All directed at him. All for him. But he likes Ronan the way he is, and he’s thankful to have landed a boyfriend who is willing— _mostly_ willing—to put up with the annoyance that is trying to fit sex into a long-distance relationship. 

No, Ronan Lynch does not like “halfway” one bit—this is something Adam knows like his own birthday. 

But Adam sometimes thinks it’s worth it, Ronan’s little hang up with everything being done to its fullest potential. He’ll never admit it to Ronan, but perhaps it’s true that absence makes the heart fonder. It most certainly makes his dick harder.

It _feels_ worth it on mornings like this. Early Saturdays at the Barns, tangled together in the sheets of Ronan’s childhood bed. Warm yellow light is just beginning to filter through the open window, turning the exposed parts of their bare chests gold. In the distance, Adam can hear the steady rushing of the stream, the soft humming of the cows, the cluck of the chickens. In the immediate—Ronan’s unwavering heartbeat, strong against Adam’s good ear. 

It’s almost perfect—the kind of morning that makes him want to pad over to the window so he can record the sunrise for Blue and Gansey. The kind of morning that makes him want to stay in bed forever, just like this, cheek to Ronan’s sternum, long arms wrapped loosely around Adam’s torso. 

_Almost_ perfect, because Adam's dick is twitching curiously in his plaid boxers because of its proximity to Ronan’s warm, soft thigh. He fidgets a little, sliding off of Ronan so that he can press his face, and semi-boner into the wrinkled sheets and forget about it enough to go back to sleep.

Except the sheets are kind of warm, too, from when they had been laying in them before, and the friction of the cotton against his boxers doesn’t _not_ feel nice. 

Heat pools low in Adam’s belly. “Ahh,” he murmurs into the mattress. “For fuck’s sake.”

He can feel more than hear when Ronan wakes up, suspiciously fast so that Adam knows he’s been awake longer than he’ll let on.

Saturday at the Barns is _this_ , the blue of Ronan’s eyes barely visible as he stretches and yawns, Adam’s morning wood problem forgotten in light of the uneven thump-stop-thump of his heart.

“Parrish?” What Ronan sounds like first thing in the morning is the mystery of Adam’s existence. Not husky and low like Adam’s, colored with the round vowels of his Virginian accent. But soft, warm, mellow—a tender version of Ronan Lynch that was only around at 7 am, that was only for him. Only for Adam.

It’s this: Ronan gaining enough consciousness to look at him through long, inky lashes with bedroom eyes. Ronan’s hand trailing across the small of Adam’s back. Three years of dating, all the familiar sexual tension that comes with so rarely waking up in the same bed. And still, _still,_ Ronan calling him decidedly by his last name.

It should annoy Adam, it should, but instead the two syllables, the way Ronan pushes them through his teeth like a hiss and caress at once, send a welcome shiver down his spine.

“Mm. Yeah?”

“Turn over.”

Adam does, making no effort to be coy about the bulge in his boxers. Ronan wastes no time in tugging them off his hips by the waistband. Adam huffs, once, when the light breeze from the window grazes over his half-hard dick. But other than that they’re quiet, as if in silent agreement that the serene noises of a rural Virginia morning should not be interrupted.

Quiet as Ronan shimmies down the bed until his face is level with Adam’s thighs.

Quiet as he wraps a hand around Adam’s base and squeezes, lightly.

Quiet when Ronan props himself up on his elbows, and they both watch as Adam fills out to full hardness in his hand.

“Quick,” Ronan comments, finally. “Dreaming about me?”

Adam rolls his eyes. “You wish.” But he was. He always is.

Ronan slots his thumb over Adam’s tip, grinning as Adam’s hips buck. “Okay.”

He expects Ronan to pump him slowly, maybe stroke over his balls or trace at his thighs— Saturday mornings are for take-your-time sex. But Ronan is merciless, fisting his dick until beady pearls of precum appear at the tip, rotating his wrist just so. And Adam’s already close, too close, and just a bit too sleepy to fight off the orgasm that’s creeping up his body.

“ _Argh,_ no, _Ronan—_ ”

Because Saturdays are for sex, yeah, but this is also their _last_ Saturday of the short mid-semester break before Adam has to go back and participate in “stupid ivy league shit,” as Ronan says fondly. He doesn’t want to bust in five minutes like a highschool freshman. It’s embarrassing, for one. But also it’s not at all the memory he wants to go back to Massachusetts with.

Ronan interrupts, still tugging at Adam’s dick in his hand like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I want you to, though.”

 _“Ronan,_ ” Adam tries again, but the pleading is weak even to his own ears. He doesn’t want Ronan to stop, not really.

“Come on, Parrish,” Ronan says. And it’s that, Adam’s last name and Ronan’s melodic, sexy morning voice that does it.

A swoop in his lower belly, not unlike the sensation flying in Helen Gansey’s helicopter, and Adam’s coming, gasping in harsh breaths as streams of white paint his own chest and down Ronan’s hand.

Ronan smiles, lazy, using one of the sheets to wipe the mess off of Adam’s abs before he can protest. Then he wipes his dirty hand against the bed, too.

“Really?” Adam pants. 

Ronan shrugs, not paying much attention to him. Or, Adam should say, not paying much attention to his _face._ Because Ronan’s leaning down again, this time slotting himself between Adam’s weak legs and shoving Adam’s underwear the rest of the way off.

And then, suddenly, he gets it. Ronan makes him come quickly, so he can take his _time_.

Ronan mouths at Adam’s dick, back to half-hard again and bright red from his orgasm. Adam’s whole body jerks away from the feeling, tingling with the over sensitivity. “Fuck. You can’t give me a minute, at least?”

“It’s been more than a minute,” Ronan says sweetly, ducking his head again.

He’s kinder, this time, trailing open-mouthed kisses all over Adam’s thighs, nipping at the skin below his belly button.

Adam scoots up on the bed a little so he can look at him, and the sight that greets has his stomach already tightening, like he could come again just from looking at Ronan. And maybe he could. His boyfriend makes dream things, but he’s a dream thing himself, straight out of Adam’s every humiliating 3 am fantasy and mid-class daydreams that leave him with uncomfortable semis during lectures.

Ronan’s looking at Adam’s dick like it’s a perfect thing, straight out of a porno—it’s not; Adam’s comfortable with his slightly smaller than average dick. It’s not _long,_ but it’s thick and curved and Adam knows what to do with it. He’s okay with his body, too. Lightly freckled and sepia-tan, with long, wiry muscles from grueling hours of mechanic work that he can’t seem to give up even with the multitude of on-campus jobs offered to him. He’s not perfect, but Adam’s never lingered much on his looks when there were so many other things to worry about. He’s decent looking, at least.

Even that can’t explain the raw admiration in Ronan’s eyes as they drag over Adam’s face, across his shoulders and back down to his crotch. There’s nothing teasing about it. Like Adam’s some movie star or something. It makes Adam flush everywhere possible and then grow redder when he realizes that Ronan watches this happen with that same amazed expression, too. 

It’s hot, sure. But also Adam’s chest constricts a little and he feels like crying.

He clears his throat, and he was going to say something sweet, he was, but what comes out is, “Hey, suck my dick.”

“Hey,” Ronan tuts. “Ask nicely.”

And the two of them argue about everything, all the time, so much that they drive Gansey up the wall from miles away and Adam’s roommate has learned the telltale signs for when to excuse himself to avoid a shouting match. It’s an unshakable habit from high school, Adam figures, back when they were fighting for Gansey’s number one friendship spot and fighting over Latin homework answers and fighting because they liked each other and were too stupid to know it. Even in bed, neither of them were likely to concede without at least a bit of banter.

But Adam wants it too bad, this morning. So he pouts a little, and goes, “Pretty please suck my dick?”

And Saturday morning is this: Ronan is weirdly, unfairly comfortable with a dick tucked into his mouth.

Adam _whines_ as Ronan takes his whole length, sliding down it like it’s nothing at all. It’s too much, for the first couple of minutes, the sensitivity from his first orgasm making his thighs quiver. 

Then Adam relaxes, and Ronan does, too, bobbing his head lazily. The silky warmth of Ronan’s mouth feels amazing around him. He wants to fuck up into it so badly, but he doesn’t, just lets Ronan have his way with him.

“So good,” Adam says. He slides one of his hands down Ronan’s shaved head to cup at the back of his neck. “You’re so good at this, Ronan.”

Ronan moans around him at the praise. 

“Just like that, fuck.”

Ronan slides off him with an obscene smacking noise, a clear string of spit still connecting his slightly swollen lips to the tip of Adam’s dick. Ronan’s face, jaw slack and tears in the corners of his eyes, which are a little bit hazy—yeah, that’s a better image for Adam to take with him back to school. Weeks of jerk-off material in Ronan’s expression, like _he_ was the one who’d just had an orgasm and was well on his way to a second one. And Adam hadn’t even touched him yet.

Adam’s not the religious one. But on mornings like this, he feels as close to believing in angels as he’ll get.

“Pretty,” Adam whispers.

And Ronan _smirks._

Adam has to close his eyes as Ronan brings his mouth to his length, again, using the tip of his pink tongue to lap at Adam’s slit. Adam is leaking, absolutely leaking precum steadily down his dick like he hadn’t had sex in months. It’s mortifying, but he doesn’t care, he doesn't, just tilts his head back and lets himself _feel._

Everything. The firm bob, suck, lick pattern that Ronan is falling into, the perfect amount of wetness and heat. The grip that Ronan has on his hip, letting him know that his boyfriend is affected by this, too. The gentle morning wind that’s making his nipples hard and goosebumps rise on his arms.

The scratch of stubble that is making Adam’s smooth, sensitive inner thighs raw. It’s always like this: Ronan’s jaw usually shadows before he can even put down his razor. But Adam likes it, all of it. The slight sting, the way it’ll feel tomorrow morning in the pair of worn khakis he wears to class—so frustrating and maudlin that Ronan will be on his mind all through Intro to American Constitutional Law. That he’ll be forced to quietly jerk off to the memory of it in the dorm shower.

Adam’s so caught up in it all, that he barely notices when Ronan removes his hand from his hip to reach for something on the bedside table. Barely hears the top of the cap go _pop_ as Ronan unscrews it with one hand. 

But suddenly there are fingers coated with the tell-tale, sticky slide of lube prodding at his hole, rubbing at his sensitive perineum. 

Adam whimpers. “Fuck. Please.”

Ronan takes his mouth off momentarily to focus on sliding his index finger in. And it’s too easy, no resistance at all when they’ve been fucking all weekend; he barely needs the lube. So he adds another, thrusting them into Adam until he’s pliable and shaking underneath him.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Adam says. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Harvard undergrad,” Ronan notes with a delighted, absolutely un-Ronanlike giggle. “Eloquent.” 

Whatever Adam was going to reply gets strangled in his throat as Ronan adds one more finger, this time pushing all the way to press ruthlessly at his prostate. 

_“Ronan,_ shit.”

Ronan attaches his lips back to the head of Adam’s dick, keeping pace with the fingers moving in and out of him. His other hand presses hard against Adam’s lower stomach, cautioning not to thrust into Ronan’s mouth. Let Ronan do all the work.

“Ahh,” Adam moans. “ So close.”

He doesn't really need to announce it, though, because Ronan knows all his tells already. And Ronan doesn’t really need a warning, regardless, because Adam knows he’s going to swallow every drop.

The second orgasm, Ronan wrings from him. Adam’s hips careen off the bed of their own accord, and the sound that leaves his mouth is _pathetic,_ so embarrassing, but fuck if it doesn’t feel incredible, his entire chest heaving with the feeling as he pulses into Ronan’s mouth. So much cum—like he didn’t already blow his load before, maybe _more_ than before—but Ronan takes it all. Every last trickle of it gets downed, and when he’s done he laps at what’s left on Adam’s dick, too.

And Adam is groaning, “Fuck, Ronan, fuck,” because it’s _really_ too much now. He bats Ronan’s face from his crotch, dick finally laying soft and spent against his thighs. Ronan frowns, because it probably looks like he’s being pushed away, but Adam just tugs him up, up, so their faces are level.

They kiss.

Finally, finally, slotting their lips together so that their noses collide. And then adjusting, quickly, the way you only can with years of practice, so that their tongues can slide noisily against each other. It’s kind of gross, because Ronan tastes like cum and there’s a bit of drool dried on Adam’s chin from sleep and neither of them has brushed their teeth yet. They kiss like they’re drowning, anyway.

“Thanks,” Adam says into the kiss. He thinks he’s saying it. Ronan swallows the gratitude like he did with his cum. Adam kisses all over his face. The stubble, sleep crust in the corner of his eyes, everything. He licks at Ronan’s lips and Ronan allows him to just sigh, warm and breathy into his mouth.

Adam lets Ronan, just a little bit too tall and broad for this position, clamber into his lap as they kiss again and again. And then he reaches into Ronan’s boxers and smiles so wide they knock teeth and Ronan hisses.

Because he knows how Ronan likes it, too. A little rough, no lube or spit, the grip of Adam’s perpetually calloused hands a bit too tight. A little bit of manhandling, because Ronan likes that when he’s this ruined. 

Ronan’s heavy in his slender hand, bigger and longer than Adam. Adam doesn’t even pull him out fully. Just jerks him, _fast—_ Adam slides his hand up, down, drags across the tip, just for a couple of minutes, and then Ronan’s coming, in powerful bursts that turn the whole pale expanse of his chest red. 

“Adam,” he says, finally. Like a prayer.

Adam’s _own_ limp, tired dick twitches as that, because he’s a little in awe. That Ronan could want him that much. That Ronan could be so close without even getting touched just because he was sucking Adam’s dick. 

“Wow,” Adam comments, like an idiot.

And, because Ronan is never more _Ronan_ than he is after an orgasm, he says, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Nice while it lasted, at least,” Adam sighs. But he’s preening. Wow wow wow. He loves this man so fucking much. He loves how much Ronan loves him, too.

Ronan, still in his now-damp boxers, still sitting on Adam’s lap, presses his head into Adam’s neck, so that they both relax against the headboard. Fuck it, Adam wipes his right hand, wet with Ronan’s cum, on the sheets, too.

“Should’ve let me fuck it back inside you,” Ronan murmurs casually. 

“Ew,” Adam says. He prays to whoever's listening that Ronan doesn’t feel the way his dick twitches _again_ , at that. But it seems Adam’s stint with religion is over.

“Damn, Parrish,” Ronan says, exasperated, but the curve of his lips is pleased. “Again?”

Adam pinches his boyfriend’s side. It’s true, though, he could probably get it up again this morning, with the right motivation. He’s about to say as much, but he’s cut off by his own stomach growling.

Ronan laughs, nose-blowing air into the pocket of Adam’s collarbone. “Breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

Maybe after breakfast—fresh eggs right from the chickens, the dream-tea on the kitchen counter that is always the perfect temperature—maybe Ronan will fuck Adam, strip the bed and tuck him back into fresh bedsheets, ruin them again with lube and sweat and come so Ronan can make sweet Saturday love to him.

Or perhaps Ronan will let Adam fuck _him,_ bend him over the dining table and scissor him open until Ronan’s begging for it. Press him into the wood until there are red marks lining his abdomen.

But most likely they will wander outside, let the landscape of the Barns sweep them away into the nature and into each other like Cabeswater might. 

Ronan will tend to the animals while Adam asks questions he mostly knows the answers too, just to hear him talk. Then they’ll sit in the slightly damp grass together, still in just their boxers. They’ll link fingers loosely and laugh about things that aren’t really funny.

Later still, Adam will pretend to check the schedules for a bus back to campus until Ronan rolls his eyes and fishes the BMW keys from his jacket pocket. Later, Ronan will drop him off outside his dorm building and drive through the night so he’s in time for church with Matthew and Declan.

But right now Ronan is in his arms.

He’s not so sad about leaving. Adam’s too busy thinking about when they’ll be together again. 

(Also, he’s pretty sure they’re gonna blow each other in the Harvard faculty parking lot.) 

(They usually do.) 

(Ronan Lynch isn’t big on halfway, but Adam’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it well.)

**Author's Note:**

> I had a half glass of wine and put on Oh, What A World by Kacey Musgraves, and this happened.


End file.
